A Matter of Sufficiency
by howards end
Summary: Mary Bennet/OC. Some loves are passionate, some loves are tragic. But some loves are quaint and not very impressive. It's just a matter of sufficiency.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter I**

Mary Bennet did not like to witness people crying. She supposed that no one _really_ did, not even when the circumstances required tears. But Kitty was sobbing wretchedly for no good reason. She was lying prostrate in bed with her hands over her face.

"Kitty, _do_ stop, you are going to make yourself sick."

"Oh, Mary, I wish I really were laid up! Maybe then Papa would have some pity on me."

"I doubt he would feel any kinder towards you if you cried yourself senseless," Mary replied, in what some might have qualified as an unfeeling manner. But she only wanted for her sister to recover her wits. It was plain for anyone to see that Mr Bennet would gladly accept Timothy Clare as Kitty's husband. The foolish girl had read too much Ann Radcliffe and expected Reverend Clare's own nephew to be turned away, in which case, she would no doubt devise to elope with him, or threaten to do herself in. By the looks of it, Kitty was attempting the second course of action.

"You know very well Father is shaking hands with your betrothed, as we speak."

"I know nothing of the kind. Timothy told me that Papa was very upset when he found out about his intentions to marry me from Sir William. I don't know who told him! That nosy Maria Lucas, no doubt!"

Mary shook her head in reproof. "You were the one who appointed Maria as your confidante. You should know young girls ought not to share secrets." But she did not insist on the point a great deal.

Ever since Lydia, their youngest sister, had left for Newcastle with her disreputable husband, Officer George Wickham, Kitty had been feeling very lonely and adrift. She and Lydia had spent every waking moment together and had shared every confidence. Mary could not and _would_ not occupy that vacancy. So Kitty had found a new sister in Maria Lucas, with some middling results, it seemed.

"Anyway," Mary said, "whatever Maria said to Sir William could hardly endanger Mr Clare's chances."

"How would you know?" Kitty demanded, tears streaming down her face. "You've never been asked."

Mary knew what her sister meant. She had never been asked for her hand in marriage, but that was hardly singular. One usually got asked once or twice in one's lifetime. More than twice would mean that the lady or the proposition itself was morally circumspect. As such, there was nothing shameful or strange about a young girl of twenty having never been offered marriage.

In fact, she found it very hard to imagine leaving home and family so young. Kitty, who was only eighteen, would be required to follow Timothy Clare to whatever parish he was assigned to. Mary wondered whether an obscure part of her sister was crying because she feared such a prospect.

Mary made up her mind to go downstairs and ask Mrs Hill for a pot of tea. There was no use talking to Kitty anymore. Perhaps convincing her to drink something hot might prove more successful. On her way down the stairs, she was accosted by her mother, who shushed her with a raised finger to her lips.

"The men are still talking," Mrs Bennet whispered happily. "I happened to walk by when the door was ajar. I couldn't help hearing...but Mr Clare has made no complaints about Kitty's dowry. Isn't that wonderful?"

Mary knew that was fortuitous indeed. Some suitors might have demanded a greater recompense for marrying into a family so closely connected to the Darcys of Pemberley.

"Perhaps you ought to tell Kitty that, before she drowns in her own tears," she remarked in that vexing manner that upset Mrs Bennet. She would have liked for _all_ her daughters to have been good-humoured. Even Lizzy had become more amiable after marriage. But there was little hope that a kind and patient soul might take Mary off her hands.

"Have you made your sister cry again, Mary?"

" _Me_?" her daughter asked, feeling very much affronted. "I hope I occupy my time better than _that_ , Mama."

But Mrs Bennet had already moved past her and was knocking gently on Kitty's door.

"Kitty, dear...oh, you must not make your face all puffy," she heard her mother say before the door closed behind her.

Feeling slightly cross, Mary continued her descent, still intent on finding Mrs Hill.

But alas, she was arrested once more on the landing when she heard her father walk out of his study abruptly, followed closely by Mr Clare into the parlour hall.

The men were shaking hands, just as Mary had foreseen, and Mr Clare was grinning from ear to ear. It seemed a little unfair, Mary mused. The bride was crying upstairs, but downstairs, the groom was blissfully unaware.

"Mary! I hope you have not adopted the habit of spying on your betters. There are enough silly girls under this roof."

Mary turned an unattractive shade of red. How terribly unjust! Her father had caught her standing on the landing and had assumed the worst! When all _she_ had wanted was a cup of tea!

"Pardon me, Sir, I was certainly _not_ spying," was all she could muster at that moment, her feelings too strong for anything cleverer. She never _could_ summon a witty retort on command. Her father was already turning back to his study with the intention of waiting for Mrs Bennet and Kitty to assail him with questions.

Mary harrumphed. _She_ would certainly not ask him anything. In moments such as these, she thought better of marriage. Leaving one's home and family might not be such a misfortune, after all. In fact, Kitty ought to be happy.

* * *

By evening, Mary's bad mood had been replaced with the humbling and rather distracting realization that very soon, she would be the only _Miss_ Bennet left at Longbourn.

Her mother had been thoroughly occupied with Kitty's courtship for several months, but without that useful activity, what would Mrs Bennet do? Would she turn her sights on Mary? The very idea made her reach for her dog-eared copy of Fordyce's Sermons. The good man had dedicated an entire chapter to honouring one's mother and father and Mary suspected she would require its daily guidance in the near future.

At breakfast the next day, Kitty tittered happily about Timothy Clare's many talents, her tears quite forgotten, but even Mrs Bennet was listening with only half an ear.

"Yes, dear, what a fine young man, indeed..."

Mr Bennet's interruption was quite welcome by then. He cleared his throat and removed a letter from the pocket of his vest.

"Now, then, shall we hear from our beloved cousin, Mr Collins?"

Mrs Bennet's lips pursed unhappily. She looked as if she had swallowed a very bad egg. "The man has written again? Goodness, we seem to be getting a letter every month. Did he already hear about Kitty's match?"

"No, I'm afraid it's much worse than that," Mr Bennet assessed dryly. "He writes to share the happy news and to congratulate himself on the occasion of Mrs Collins being with child. He is to be a father."

Mrs Bennet dropped her tea spoon dramatically. "With _child_? Charlotte is – Oh, Mr Bennet! That is dreadful!"

It must have seemed dreadful, Mary imagined, since not a single one of her married sisters was yet with child and Mrs Bennet dearly disliked to be outdone by Charlotte Lucas.

Mr Bennet meticulously wiped the rim of his spectacles with the back of his handkerchief. Mary knew he was preparing to cast some aspersions on his wife. "My dear, I have never known you to be so blasphemous. Why, every birth is a blessing."

" _How_ can you say so, Mr Bennet, when that child is going to inherit Longbourn and turn us all out before our time?"

"Indeed, I expect his first decree as a suckling babe will be to demand our immediate departure," he teased, perching his glasses atop his nose.

"You trifle about your family, Sir, as you always do! But what if Mrs Collins gets it in her head that the rectory is too small for a large family? What then?"

Mr Bennet gave the matter some thought. "Mr Collins would not leave his congregation, nor suffer the loss of Lady Catherine de Bourgh's company."

"That man is far shrewder than you give him credit for. Watch and see if he does not try to seat himself at Longbourn while your chair is still warm!"

"Mama, how morbid," Mary protested. She had heard enough on the matter to turn her stomach. "Mr Collins would never act so unchristian."

She never liked talks of money and property. She did not understand half of it, and she was too proud to say so, hence she avoided the subject as a rule. The dreaded entailment of the Bennet fortune was a punishing ordeal for her nerves.

" _You_ ought to be far more concerned, Mary, seeing as when Mr Collins decides to opportune himself on us, you, your father and I –"

"But my dear, Mary is being taken from us as well," Mr Bennet remarked humorously.

Both she and her mother turned their heads sharply towards the _pater familias_.

"Mr Collins requests the presence of one of his _dear_ cousins to tend to Mrs Collins in her hour of need."

Mrs Bennet blinked slowly, as if the words were to be deciphered through a thick layer of gauze.

"He _requests_? What on Earth does he have need for one of my daughters?"

"He writes that only a family relation can offer his wife comfort in the future months."

"Well, then why can't Maria Lucas go?"

"Oh, no, Maria can't possibly go!" Kitty intervened in the conversation for the first time since she had stopped singing praises to her betrothed. "She is waiting to hear from Jonathan King! He is going to propose to her very soon. In fact, she is hoping Mr Clare's gesture will have given him courage."

Mary knew dimly of Jonathan King. He was Miss Mary King's cousin, and _she_ was an heiress of some consequence. She supposed the match was considered very favourably by the Lucases.

"Lady Lucas said nothing to _me_ about Charlotte when she called upon us last week. I suppose she expects us to comply with their demands, whatever they are," Mrs Bennet lamented, although her eyes had already taken on a rather speculative gleam.

"We may politely refuse them on some sensible grounds," Mr Bennet offered, putting the letter way.

"Yes, Father, I would like that very much," Mary agreed, feeling quite put upon by the entire scheme. She had never been very close to Charlotte Lucas, nor was she talented in matters of housekeeping. The daughter of a gentleman, particularly one that was well-read, needn't be.

" _Refuse_?" Mrs Bennet echoed, quickly changing tack. "And let Lady Lucas have the satisfaction of our humiliation? No, indeed! We can ill afford to upset our cousin, and it might be a good opportunity, after all. Why, perhaps Mr Collins has sensed how very unjust the entailment is on you girls and he's invited one of you in the hope of finding you a husband."

Mary was, as always, overwhelmed by her mother's capricious moods. Mrs Bennet could so quickly go from strong refusal to complete accord that it made quite hard keeping up with her.

"But I don't wish to go, Mama. I am not suited for the task and I shall only stand in Mrs Collins' way."

"Don't be silly, Mary! You won't be standing in anyone's way. _Mrs Collins_ should be grateful to receive the attentions of Mr Darcy's sister-in-law."

"Papa, tell her I don't wish to go –"

"If your mother decides you must, the matter is already settled," Mr Bennet replied calmly. "Now, Mrs Hill, have Mr Hill bring me the paper..."

* * *

It was now Mary's turn to lie prostrate in bed. Except, of course, she was not going to cry over such a ridiculous matter. Her mother would change her mind in the coming days. One never knew the mysterious workings of Mrs Bennet's mind. In any case, she could not _possibly_ be expected to leave for Kent. She was certain it was more christian of her to stay put.

Mary stole a glance at the opposite bed, where Kitty was happily reading over Timothy Clare's letters. She almost envied her sister, not for her timely marriage, but for the fact that she would stay at Longbourn until the wedding, whereas Mary might be gone in a fortnight for all _she_ knew.

How fickle and contrary fate could be! Only a day before, she had been contemplating her circumstances quite soberly, and now she was set upon by all sorts of arbitrary forces.

Not even silent prayer could distract her mind from the trials of her future displacement. She could hardly ask the Heavenly Father for Mrs Collins _not_ to be with child, or for Mr Collins _not_ to have written that letter. All she could do was ask that her mother might be persuaded against such an imprudent course of action. Yet somehow, she doubted that even God and all his archangels could set Mrs Bennet right.

"Oh, don't sulk, Mary. Here, you may read one of Timothy's letters," Kitty offered in a sisterly fashion.

Mary felt very punished, indeed.

* * *

 _A/N: Hello, I've been reading P &P fanfiction intermittently and finally decided to post my own story about my favourite character, Mary Bennet. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! (and please be kind, it's my first attempt)_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

There was a lot of packing to be done. Mary felt her patience infinitely tried by Betsy and Martha. The maids were helping her sort through the clothes and small possessions she was to take with her on the long trip to Kent, but they were very careless with her books and they shared the opinion that her muslin, her handkerchiefs and even her nightdress, ought to be treated for stains, in case Mrs Collins or her servants saw Mary _en_ _déshabillé_.

Mary thought this was perfectly unnecessary, since she believed she kept her clothes in very good condition and there were very _few_ stains to be found on her garments, but when Mrs Hill was asked to weigh in, she firmly agreed that Mary's eyesight might be inferior to Mrs Collins' and so, a _great_ deal of stains might be observed anyway.

It provoked her how much more respect Charlotte Lucas had accrued simply by changing her name. Of course, Mary was not a radical to think that a woman ought to keep her maiden name, far from it. But _people_ should still treat Mrs Collins as befit her true station and merit. The fifth portion of the Ephesians stated in no unclear terms that wives ought to be meek and obedient, not mindful of _stains_.

But you couldn't expect too much from Betsy and Martha, bless their souls. They were good girls, if a little simple. Mary felt very lucky not to be simple, although she was quite unlucky in other matters.

For instance, she had to write a letter to her cousin, formally accepting his invitation. It was bad enough that she was forced to leave her home, but to also express her _thanks_ for the opportunity! That was a hard blow to her pride, and though she was a virtuous young woman, she couldn't help but think that humbleness was not the same as humility.

Mr Collins wrote back enthusiastically to inform her that Lady Catherine de Bourgh had offered her own barouche to fetch her once she arrived at the coach stop in Bromley.

 _And that is just the thing, my dear cousin, for there is nothing more suitable for a summer tour than a barouche._

Mary had never been in a barouche, but she supposed Mr Darcy and Lizzy might be in possession of one. It seemed like the sort of vehicle the higher ranks kept for entertainment more than transport.

Mrs Bennet was very impressed with Lady Catherine's offer.

"Perhaps this is an olive branch, my dear," she told Mr Bennet, a week before Mary's departure. "You see, her ladyship is no longer at variance with us. She wishes to welcome our daughter like a proper relation."

Mr Bennet was a degree more cynical. "Or she wishes to remind us she shall never _be_ a proper relation."

Mary could agree with neither. The journey by post was very tiresome, and by the time she reached Bromley, she thought little of how she ought or ought not to be received. She hadn't managed to say goodbye to Kitty very well, and that was a rather sad thing, because she would not see her sister again until her wedding. She was not sentimental by any stretch of the imagination, but she asked Samson, the servant Mr Bennet had spared to travel with her, to tell Kitty that she was looking forward to the wedding. Mary never looked forward to gatherings, especially weddings, which were a much noisier affair, so Kitty would know this was an affectionate message.

She hardly took notice of Lady Catherine's barouche. The countryside was very pink and pretty as it was winding down for twilight, but her vantage point did not increase her attention. Her eyes kept falling shut from time to time.

At last, she espied the rectory chimneys from the road and she quickly brushed her face and hair in an attempt to look more civil. Many moons ago, she had thought of Mr Collins as a suitable young man, but of course, she no longer harboured such thoughts.

She had expected her cousin to attend to her first as she stepped down, but Mr Collins quickly dashed past her and shook the hand of the coachman, begging him to send his compliments back to Lady Catherine. Only after these proceedings were finished, did he condescend to kiss her very loudly on both cheeks and tell her how happy he was to see his dear "Kitty" again.

"Why, you share your Christian name with one of so high esteem –"

"But Sir, my name is Mary."

"Ah! Of course! I only thought - but here is my good wife, Charlotte."

"My dear, Mary and I are very well acquainted."

"That is capital, indeed. Well, let us repair inside! Lady Catherine has forecast there shall be a drop of rain tonight and you know she is never wrong about these things."

After such confounding conversation, Mary was happy to be shown to her room. The rectory was comfortable and large, though not very well-aired. The furniture was ornate and heavy, and it did not seem like the sort a clergyman would purchase, but she was soon edified in that regard.

"In her infinite wisdom, Lady Catherine provided the furnishings and appliances that you see before you, so that this rectory is the best of the kind in all of England, I daresay," Mr Collins boasted happily.

"It is very distinguished, Sir," Mary acquiesced mildly, hoping there would be some supper soon. No one could be expected to appreciate artistic taste on an empty stomach, was her belief.

"Now, my sweet cousin, after you've refreshed a little, I shall give you a proper tour of the house –"

"My dear, our guest must be very tired and hungry. Perhaps the tour can be postponed until tomorrow?" Charlotte put in sensibly.

Mary felt very grateful to Charlotte Lucas and even conceded that she was much nicer now than when she had lived at Lucas Lodge. In an effort to return the kindness, Mary told her, as they climbed up to her room, that she would try her best to be useful. Charlotte gave her a wry smile, the kind she always exchanged with Lizzy. Mary was too proud to ask what it meant.

Her room was not much larger than the one she shared at home with Kitty, although the window view was much prettier. She could see a vegetable garden, the hedged confines of a large field, and further on the tall columns of what she assumed was Rosings Park. There would be little sun coming in, since the room was positioned at the back of the rectory, but as summer never agreed with her too much, she would enjoy the coolness of the afternoons spent here.

"Thank you, Mrs Collins, the room is quite comfortable."

"Please, let us address each other by our Christian names, Mary. Harriet shall call on you when supper is served. And then perhaps you will have one cup of tea with me before you go to bed."

Mary wondered why Charlotte would make such a private invitation without Mr Collins being present.

Oh, goodness, does she want to talk about the baby? Mary realized with dread. That would be _ghastly_. Charlotte was perhaps a little heavier than before, but she was not showing any increased girth - not yet at least. There was no need to have this conversation so early on. Or did Charlotte want to get it out of the way?

Mary was very nervous during supper since she knew very little about babies and liked them even less. What was she supposed to say and how could she avoid talking about them? She was so worried that she could not enjoy the ham which, Mr Collins said, had been cured by Lady Catherine's own cook.

She needn't have worried.

When she repaired with Charlotte to her private parlour, Mrs Collins wasted no time in telling her the true purpose for her stay at Hunsford.

"Mr Collins is writing a book."

Mary was bewildered. "A _book_?"

"Yes. He has entertained this scheme for quite some time, but he has now begun in earnest. You see, he is gathering his best sermons in a little volume which will be recommended by Lady Catherine herself. She was the one who gave him the idea, actually. She says the printed press should not be shunned by those who seek to educate. She may not be wrong in that regard."

"Well, that is a _fine_ endeavour for a clergyman," Mary declared, although an obscure part of her felt that a man of the cloth ought to publish his writings posthumously, unless of course, he was as refined an orator as Mr Fordyce.

"Yes, very fine. But the problem is, Mr Collins requires a great deal of help putting the manuscript in order. There are many notes and papers to be sifted through and many corrections to be made. You understand, of course..."

Mary was beginning to see where this would all lead, but she waited patiently for Charlotte to finish. Mrs Collins resumed shortly, explaining that her husband had wanted nothing more than to be assisted by his wife, but seeing as she was burdened with housekeeping duties ("We only keep John and Harriet, you see") and there was a baby coming on the way, Charlotte could not presume to stand in his way.

"I hope this won't be a great inconvenience to you, Mary."

But Mary was so utterly relieved that her duties would not extend to the baby that she smiled for the first time in several days.

"Why, there's no inconvenience. I enjoy nothing better than reading sermons."

That was very true and she was proud of her passion, though she did not wish to appear too eager. She added carefully, "I will take the matter very seriously, of course."

Charlotte was extremely happy to hear this. In fact, she looked almost as relieved as Mary.

Later that evening while lying half-asleep in bed, Mary realized that perhaps this was the very reason the Collinses had written to her family. They had concealed their intentions and not mentioned any one in particular, but they must have known that _she_ , Mary Bennet, was the scholar of the family.

Her heart began to beat uncommonly fast. If the volume was published, would her name, perchance, appear somewhere in the introduction?

 _...and I could not have raised pen to paper without the aid of the most accomplished young lady of my acquaintance, whose intellect far surpasses that of many learned women of her time..._

But this was a very bad thing to dream about, very bad indeed. Only the meek shall inherit the Earth and they must not seek glory.

Of course, they must not seek _vain_ glory. Glory in the name of God was an entirely different matter.

* * *

Mr Collins had not forgotten the tour he had promised Mary, and the very next day, he took her on a "happy jaunt" both within and without the premises of the Hunsford rectory. Mary walked with him patiently, assenting or dissenting whenever it was required of her, paying attention to his manifold observations ("you will notice I planted a very good crop of carrots here, right where the sun reaches its zenith"), but after half an hour, she began to grow tired and restless. She saw enough of the country at home; there was no reason to witness more of it. Yes, that shrub was very pretty and that trellis over there looked very picturesque with the peonies arranged in the shape of a crown, but one got tired of _so_ much prettiness, surely?

She was eagerly waiting for them to be finished so they might retire to his study, where, no doubt, there would be a chair and lectern already prepared for her.

Her disappointment was not small when, upon returning to the house, Mr Collins declared he would require some rest until afternoon.

"You have wearied me out, my dear cousin," he trifled with a smile, but Mary found nothing amusing in his remark. _He_ had been the one intent on exerting himself. She supposed they might begin work after dinner, since the summer days were long and provided enough light for writing, but this project was arrested too when a letter was delivered from Rosings Park.

"My dear, we are to dine with her ladyship next Wednesday! Lady Catherine is anxious to speak to Miss Bennet now that she has arrived. What a momentous occasion for you, my cousin! I hadn't thought her ladyship would be so quick, but of course, she omits nothing!"

Mr Collins was in a state of agitation for the rest of the day and there could be no mention of his book at these intervals. In fact, Charlotte confided in Mary that there may be _no_ time allotted to the manuscript until after Wednesday, at the very least.

Mary was greatly troubled. A whole week without any sort of occupation! Of course, there was helping Charlotte with mending and embroidering and there was her own reading to be done, but she had expected much more activity. She thought of beginning a letter to her mother and father, but Mr Collins insisted she should only write them _after_ having met Lady Catherine, since there would be so much _more_ to tell Mr and Mrs Bennet.

"You would be depriving them of a fine pleasure indeed if you did not include Lady Catherine's intelligence to them. My ladyship is a fine composer of words, and no one can render her thoughts better than herself."

Well, of course, no one can, Mary thought plainly. One does not know another person's thoughts. And anyone who presumes to is pretending to be a diviner, or another such godless profession.

But she was beginning to understand that Lady Catherine was to be feared and revered at Hunsford. She did not remember a great deal from the great lady's visit to Longbourn. She had been sent upstairs with her sisters while Elizabeth spoke to her ladyship. It had been somewhat exciting, something like a _feuilleton_ really, but novels rarely left a mark on her, so Lady Catherine's visit did not leave a mark either. Mary had learned enough notions of rank to know that the daughter of an Earl was entitled to a great deal of deference, but her ladyship _must_ have possessed even greater attributes to be so constantly referred to. Mary held a vague belief that members of the aristocracy must be constantly improving themselves; otherwise, how could they compensate for keeping a barouche?

"Now, my dear cousin, have you brought anything more polished to wear? Do not trouble yourself if you haven't, for Lady Catherine likes to observe rank whenever possible. But it might help if you – oh, a muslin dress should do very well! And one more thing, Mary, while you are in her ladyship's presence, let us not mention Cousin Elizabeth, eh? Mrs Darcy is only to be spoken of by Lady Catherine, if she so chooses."

Mary felt she _could_ comply with all these instructions if they might begin their work soon. It would be quite easy not to mention Lizzy, since she believed that Lizzy would not have liked to be mentioned to Lady Catherine anyway.

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you for your reviews! I hope you liked the second chapter! I would also like to add that Mr Collins will not be Mary's love interest, which is pretty plain to see already, but I'm mentioning it now, just in case. Thank you for reading!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

Mary had never noticed how quickly time passed at Longbourn. The days always seemed to be filled with activity; from breakfast to supper, the house and its occupants were invariably engaged in some kind of enterprise, even if, in Kitty's case, the enterprise consisted of trying on gloves and bonnets.

The rectory at Hunsford, however, gave one the opposite idea. Time here passed sluggishly, almost not passing at all if the day was notably hot. Mr and Mrs Collins were peculiarly _unengaged_. Although they disposed of a smaller number of servants (and hence, might be required to make a greater effort to preserve domestic ease), they seemed to be constantly inactive.

Charlotte dedicated long mornings and afternoons to mending and stitching articles of clothing that no one seemed to need. She would sink into an old armchair with the sewing box in her lap and not rise until several hours later. When Harriet entered the drawing room to consult with the mistress on what ought to be served for dinner, Charlotte would speak slowly, almost monotonously, going over each detail with painstaking care. Charlotte later explained to Mary that Mr Collins was very particular about his dinner. The other meals he might ignore or show little interest in, but nothing could upset him more than an unsatisfying dinner.

"Mrs Selfridge comes to cook for us once a week. She is Lady Catherine's second cook, spared from Rosings for our modest needs. The rest is accomplished quite efficiently by Harriet. Mr Collins thinks that we ought not to keep our own cook, for it would insult Lady Catherine's generosity."

Mary could easily see how this might inconvenience Charlotte, but that was no reason for her to indulge in apathy. She ought to have sought her husband's council on how best to remove these displeasures.

Mr Collins, however, was by no means any better. His wife had been a true prophet when she had told Mary there would be no work done until after Wednesday. The clergyman spent the entire morning in his garden, tending to his carrots and sometimes even _talking_ to them. Of what, she could not be sure, for she was loath to spy on him during such private intervals. The rest of the day he spent in his study, alone, "reflecting". Mary supposed it was demanding work having to think all day of scholarly things and then having to render them in simple speech for one's laymen. And yet, _she_ , though barely a novice, could sometimes contemplate one or two scholarly things a day and not tire at all. Mr Collins' constitution must have been weaker, for when one afternoon she walked by his door, she thought she heard a light snore.

Mary knew that she could not, in good conscience, intrude upon his rest to remind him of his manuscript, but _after_ Wednesday, she felt she was entitled to at least bring up the subject at breakfast.

* * *

"Observe, my dear cousin, the finely clipped topiaries on your left. I am sure you are surprised, since very few great houses in England nowadays boast such fine stock. That is because her ladyship has decided to single-handedly revive the lost art of topiary. She has even recommended me a _book_ on the subject. Oh, she has not read it herself, she has no need to know more on the subject, but she has advised me to become informed, should I ever have some modest designs on my own garden. What do you think, Maria, would a topiary serve our rectory?"

"My name is Mary, Sir. You are thinking of Mrs Collins' sister."

"Ah, yes, of course...but I daresay a topiary would do nicely for the garden."

Mary could not comment freely on the matter, since she rather thought that the shrubs in question looked large and ungainly. Perhaps it was their purpose to occlude the estate from comfortable viewing, and if so, they were doing a splendid job.

She was spared from expressing this opinion when Mr Collins launched himself into further descriptions of the stairs and the entrance hall and the chandeliers. Mary was grateful for his edifying commentary, as the rooms and the portraits and the furniture were all deserving of mention, and yet his minute knowledge of Rosings Park seemed to suggest that Lady Catherine herself had revealed to him such ordinary details. She wondered if Mr Darcy also indulged in telling his inferiors about the cost of the wainscoting. Mary decided it was another eccentricity of the very wealthy.

"I remind you, my sweet cousin, to refrain from mentioning Mrs Darcy at all costs. Her ladyship's constitution is too delicate for such subjects, as I'm sure you will agree."

But no sooner had Mary been introduced to Lady Catherine, and no sooner had she been seated next to Mrs Collins, than the dignified Lady asked,

"And how fares your sister, Miss Bennet?"

Having so many sisters and not knowing which of them Lady Catherine was inquiring about, Mary replied, equivocally, "She is very well, your ladyship."

"Very _well_?" the Lady's shrewd gaze narrowed. "She has not written me a single letter since winter. The very brief epistle she deigned to send me at Christmas was quite poorly conceived. Pray, does she still write your family?"

Mary now recognized the sister under scrutiny as Elizabeth and she felt very confused, for hadn't Mr Collins said there would be no talk of Mrs Darcy? She did not like it when people said one thing and then did the opposite. Lady Catherine looked very formidable in her high chair, commanding everyone's attention with her penetrating gaze, but Mary found it strange that so intimidating a person would be interested in her family's doings. Had she not opposed the union between Elizabeth and Mr Darcy? Why would she request written intimacy between her and a young woman whom she had previously scorned?

"Yes, Elizabeth – that is, Mrs Darcy writes to us regularly," Mary replied, and upon noticing that Lady Catherine's imperious gaze remained fixed on her, she continued apprehensively, "although, she writes more often to my eldest sister, Jane, and we do not receive those letters, as Jane is also married."

"Why, yes, I know your eldest is married. I keep myself informed on such matters, Miss Bennet," her ladyship rejoined in offended tones. "But _do_ tell me how your sister is faring. As you see, she does not write to tell _me_."

Mary looked on Mr Collins for assistance, but the clergyman was sitting with his palms clasped together as if in prayer, looking distinctly at the carpet. Mrs Collins was staring placidly at the portraits on the wall above Lady Catherine's head.

Mary felt very set upon. She was not used to quite so much attention. No one at home bothered with her opinions, a matter which was a constant source of injustice and pleasure for Mary; injustice, because she was certain she had very clever things to say and pleasure, because being thus deprived of her own significance gave her a great deal of moral satisfaction. A young lady who believes she has hidden talents which have yet to be discovered is always, secretly, a little happy.

Thus, the sudden importance given to her words now made Mary feel _terribly_ uneasy.

"Mrs Darcy last wrote to inform us that all is well at Pemberley, but for the fact that Mrs Reynolds had come down with a terrible cold," Mary began in trepidation. "She also mentioned that Mr Darcy has been proposed for a magistrate seat at Lambton –"

"Well, well, child, this is hardly the place for such gossip. I care little for my nephew's commonplace undertakings, nor do I wish to know about the servants' welfare. No, no, a young girl such as yourself who is unwed and untrained must aspire to better conversation in public."

Mary was quite shocked at the rebuke, and she felt her cheeks grow warm despite the drawing room being well-aired. Whenever Mr Bennet teased her at home, he usually never mentioned her being unwed and untrained. Mary found it very unfair that she was being admonished for not understanding her ladyship's meaning. She wished men and women would say what they truly _meant_ , although she knew from her books that this was rarely the case. Yet in books, at least, one had the author's ideas and opinions to go by. One could find _some_ meaning.

"Pardon me, your ladyship –" Mary sniffed, meekly affronted, but she was quickly interrupted.

"Mrs Darcy's elevation has given you better chances for marriage, as I understand, but you must count on your own merits and reputation if you wish to secure a good husband. I always tell Mr Collins he has chosen very well in Mrs Collins, for though she has not the charming artifices of Mrs Darcy, she has the fortitude and grace of a true consort. Most importantly, Mrs Collins knew not to reach higher than her station. You must learn this lesson very well, Miss Bennet. Why, marriages are happier when rank is observed, for no one is uneasy. You will follow Mrs Collins' example, won't you?"

Mary received these instructions with increasing alarm. Her previous blunder almost forgotten now, she worried that her ladyship believed the only reason she had come to Hunsford was to secure a "good husband". It mortified her to think that such feminine wiles had been attributed to her person. Like many young women who believed themselves intelligent but not pretty, she did not wish to be associated with her rivalling camp.

She was about to inform her ladyship about the very _serious_ contribution she was going to make to Mr Collins' book, when a servant came in to announce the return of Miss de Bourgh and The Viscount Cazlitt of Wingham from their walk.

Three people walked into the room; an older woman, whose unassuming attire and manners qualified her as a chaperone, a small and sickly young lady whose eyes were feverish with exercise but who, in all other respects, seemed to be Miss de Bourgh, and a tall man with a stiff gait and heavy blond whiskers that could only be the Viscount himself.

"You know my daughter, Miss Bennet," Lady Catherine spoke, as they all rose from their seats.

Miss de Bourgh inclined her head with a grimace not of condescension, but of fatigue. Her companion, who was introduced as Mrs Jenkinson, looked quite concerned on her behalf.

"Mr Collins, Mrs Collins, I believe you have already met Lord Cazlitt," Lady Catherine said, adopting her daughter's weary manner, but keeping her shrewd eyes on the Viscount.

"Yes, I believe we had the pleasure of seeing the honourable Viscount only a month before, during the wonderful tea party over which Miss de Bourgh presided in all her grace. Do you remember, my dear?" Mr Collins asked and Mrs Collins confirmed that it had been a lovely tea party indeed. Mary could not imagine Miss de Bourgh presiding over anything that demanding, but she supposed she had had her mother's help in it.

"This is my dear cousin, Miss Mary Bennet, sister to – ah, well, to a young woman whom we all know well by marriage," Mr Collins flubbed heroically.

But Mary was still so wracked with worry about Lady Catherine's previous remarks and so engrossed in her task - which was to find the proper time to tell her ladyship that she was dedicating her time here to anything but marriage - that she was absent for the introduction. Lord Cazlitt bowed formally, but she did not respond in time, and when she finally remembered her niceties, it was too late. He had moved on stiffly, drawing a chair for himself and Miss de Bourgh.

The conversation now changed tack, as Lady Catherine began talking about her daughter with great feeling, and Mary could hardly interrupt her. She sat unhappily in her chair, wondering when she might bring up her intellectual pursuits again.

It appeared that Anne de Bourgh was in possession of a pony cart which she liked to drive often in the vicinity of the parish. Mr Collins boasted of her many charming visits to the rectory.

"It is such a pleasure for my dear Charlotte when she sees your smart ponies coming down the drive."

"We happened to take a drive by the rectory earlier but did not find you," Anne supplied in a thin voice.

"Ah! How regrettable!" Mr Collins exclaimed.

Mary was baffled by the exchange. _Of course_ she did not find them at home! They had been invited to dine at Rosings, hence they were all _here_. How absurd!

She made a point to clear her throat. "We had already left the rectory by that time, Miss de Bourgh. I am sure you were aware."

It had been the _wrong_ thing to say, since Mr Collins turned his head at once and issued a very distressed glance her way.

Miss de Bourgh coughed, undisturbed. "You may be right."

The servant returned to announce that dinner might be served and Lady Catherine agreed that perhaps it was time to retire into the dining room, unless of course, Miss Bennet had something else to say to her daughter.

Mary now felt she had _entirely_ lost her chance to change her ladyship's opinion, unless, by some happy accident, Mr Collins brought up the book himself.

She rose and walked miserably between Mr and Mrs Collins.

* * *

At dinner, she was also seated between Mr and Mrs Collins while Miss de Bourgh and Lord Cazlitt occupied the opposite chairs. Lady Catherine presided at the head of the table and talked, at Mr Collins' eager prompting, about the courses she had settled on for the evening and the excellent selection of venison she had secured so early in the season.

"Do you hunt, Lord Cazlitt?" Mrs Collins asked politely. The Viscount, who had been contemplating his plate in heavy silence, now looked up in surprise at being addressed.

He seemed to think a great deal before he spoke. "No, I take little enjoyment in it and only perform the task when required by my obligations."

"Ah, that is wise," Mrs Collins replied with a gentle smile.

"How so?" the Viscount asked. He seemed to take such things seriously.

His question rendered Mrs Collins silent, however, as she returned her attention to her plate.

Mary was by now so ridiculously upset about the talk of courses and pony carts and venison and _not_ Mr Collins' book, that she could not help saying, too keenly,

"Hunting is frivolous entertainment, don't you think?"

She had addressed this rather unfairly to Mrs Collins, although it was not Charlotte's fault that she had been snubbed by Lady Catherine. Mary quickly felt sorry for her remark, but could not take it back when Lord Cazlitt said from the opposite chair,

"That depends on the man, not the sport. Anything can be frivolous when applied foolishly."

Unwisely, Mary decided it was the right opportunity to bring up her own concerns. "Writing about God can never be frivolous."

This was such a bizarre turn in the conversation that Lord Cazlitt paused, his knife raised halfway to his mouth. "Writing about _God_?"

Miss de Bourgh sighed in the chair next to him. "Oh, please let us not talk about God. That is such a difficult subject. And I am too tired."

"Are you all right, Anne? What is troubling you, my dear?" Lady Catherine asked sharply.

The table was suddenly quiet. Mary could feel everyone's gaze directed at her as the culprit.

Luckily, Mr Collins resumed conversation before she could, presumably, say anything worse.

Mary remained taciturn for the rest of the evening. If Kitty or Lydia had been present to watch, they might have said she was sulking. She was reminded again why she disliked gatherings and parties of every kind. She could never _say_ or _do_ the right things. There was always something that she missed, some witty remark or veiled comment that escaped her comprehension. What made matters worse was that, she probably looked like a fool. And she, who was so well-read and had so many clever things to say!

As always, Mary's suffering was tempered with pleasure. Her talents had been hitherto unappreciated, but as soon as Mr Collins began work on his manuscript, everything would change. Lady Catherine would see that Mary Bennet had better things on her mind than a husband!

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you for your reviews and many thanks to the anonymous reviewers and **Deanna27**. I hope you liked this chapter!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV**

Since her first visit to Rosings had been carried out, Mary was finally allowed to write home to her family. Mr Collins advised her to insist upon the house and its grounds in the first paragraphs and reserve the latter paragraphs for "three and no more" of Lady Catherine's remarks. He explained that her ladyship did not want to be quoted more than thrice, as was proper, even though the writer might be very tempted to include more of her wisdom.

Mary was sure she would rather not include _any_ of Lady Catherine's remarks. She would rather not mention her at all, if possible. She could not complain about her humiliation to her mother, who had decided to think very highly of Lady Catherine, and she could not "laugh" about it with her father, for she did not possess Lizzy's wit, or her pleasure for humour. The most she could do was present the events unvarnished and let Mr and Mrs Bennet judge for themselves. Unfortunately, the events did not portray her in a very good light, and she was afraid her mother and father, and possibly even Kitty, might find her rather silly. In the end, she wrote a great deal about Lady Catherine's topiaries.

Although this letter occupied the better portion of a day, during which she struggled to find an intelligent way of describing what amounted to very ungainly shrubs, Mary quickly found herself without occupation again. This time, however, she made her case to Mr Collins that, as it was past Wednesday, they might start work on the manuscript.

"Ah, yes, I was wondering when you might be ready to apply yourself, Cousin. I was only waiting for your signal."

"But – but I was waiting for yours!" she replied in a flummoxed fashion at breakfast. "In fact, Sir, I have been doing nothing but waiting."

At this point, Mrs Collins coughed quite loudly and threw Mary a weighted look, which Mary wrongly interpreted as Charlotte asking for the butter dish. Mrs Collins shook her head, and Mary pointed at the toast instead. "Is this what you want?"

Charlotte heaved a sigh and resolved to let Mary make her own mistakes.

* * *

To her very great relief, Mr Collins made a show of welcoming her into his study that very afternoon. Mary had rarely visited her father's own study, but from the little that she knew, she felt that Mr Collins' study was far handsomer. The furniture here looked more expensive, as did the very fine lace curtains which hung airily above the windows. In fact, she was surprised to find that this was the best looking room in the entire house. It was rather odd. Usually, one put more effort into the parlour or the drawing room, but Mr Collins had chosen to round up the house's best features in his study.

Perhaps that was sound. A man ought to work where his heart is gladdest. There was something to be said about frugality and moderation, but Mr Collins _was_ a rector, and because he had been chosen by God in his function, he ought to keep a fine study.

Sadly, she did not spend as good as ten minutes in it.

"Here you go, my dear cousin," he said as he deposited a heavy stack of papers on his desk. They were tied up with string and their margins were stuck together with wax. There was a great deal of them, which hinted at the fact that Mr Collins spared no expense on paper. Some of the sheets were yellow with age. Indeed, the dust they had collected almost made Mary's eyes water.

"This is only the first stack I've assembled. I've kept it in very good condition, I believe. When you are done with it, I shall promptly give you the second. I'm sure there's very little to correct, but be that as it may, I trust in your good eye. You may, of course, apply to me for ink and paper."

Mary was about to ask if she might sit down and begin, for she had made up her mind to work directly beneath the windows, but Mr Collins genially invited her to make use of any of "Charlotte's rooms" for this important task.

"But I won't trouble you if I work here, Sir!" she said emphatically. "I shall be as quiet as a mouse."

"Nonsense, nonsense, I'm sure you'd rather sit in a comfortable room with your female counterparts. And after all, what would Charlotte say about such an unorthodox arrangement, eh?" and he wagged his finger rather playfully, as if to suggest mischief.

Mary was so scandalized by his little joke that she did not say another word. She picked up the heavy stack of papers and left the room with injured dignity.

* * *

Mary wondered if it was possibly too forward of her to wish to have a study of her own. Surely it must be, for women's lot in life was domestic and reflective. A young woman ought to _think_ and _do_ , not write and speak. Unless she was very clever and very spiritual, she was apt to become silly and frivolous. Of course, _her_ lot was exceptional, because she was doing the work of God and nothing could be frivolous about that (and here she was reminded again of that dreadful visit to Rosings and that very stiff Viscount of Something), although Mary wondered if doing the work of God did not also tempt one to think of such terrible things as "independence" and "private means". The treacherous thought of having her own study was coupled with another highly dangerous one; that of profit. Should Mr Collins' book be successful, would she receive some modest stipend or compensation?

Such disloyal thoughts, however, only came to her either very late at night or very early in the morning, and as soon as she got up she knelt down to pray and chase away these false dreams. What use did she have for independence? She was plenty self-sufficient in the mind and the soul, the only two places where it counted. Anything else would be debauchery. Perhaps that is why marriage was recommended so early to young women, so that they may find their purpose without falling prey to evil thoughts. But the problem was, Mary was never going to get married, as no one would ever ask her. So there was no safeguard against temptation; she had to withstand it by herself, which she felt was very brave and noble.

She wished she could feel just as secure in her virtue when she was correcting Mr Collins' precious papers, but the clergyman's scribbles were very trying on her patience.

Firstly, he had not bothered to number any of his pages, except for the date when a particular piece of writing had been conceived, and even _that_ was sometimes missing. Mary was supposed to read through all of his sermons and arrange them in some kind of order. Secondly, many of his scriptural quotations were inaccurate, and hence, Mary was obliged to consult her King James regularly. And finally, a good deal of his homilies were incomplete or rather aberrant, running on for several sentences without a full stop or otherwise being too fragmentary to make heads or tails of. She was required to knock on his study at least a few times a day to ask him what he _meant_ in this paragraph or that note. Mr Collins felt that her dutiful questioning was unnecessary, "for surely you will think of a better meaning than I", but Mary was determined to get the right answer from him. Of course, all of this _could_ have been prevented if she had been allowed to sit in his study, but as the matter stood, she simply _had_ to intrude upon his privacy.

Not that his comments did much in the way of helping her progress. Whenever he was in the right mood to answer her questions, he either diverted to other subjects or lost his thread of thought. Mr Collins could be quite verbose when he was asked about matters of theology, but he lost a good deal of that loquacity when consulted on a particular case.

Mary was left to make her own guesses and interpret the passages to the best of her ability. The challenge was flattering to her intellect, but rather taxing too. She chose to believe that some men expressed themselves better in speech than in writing, for Mr Collins' services were not altogether inefficient. She usually found some point of interest in his Sunday exhortations, although Mary did not find it right that he seemed to address most of them to Lady Catherine, who always sat in a very fine pew in the front row. There were many times when her daughter, Anne, did not accompany her, but the Viscount Cazlitt could often be seen in her close vicinity.

Charlotte had told her confidently one afternoon that the Viscount was very "cosy" with her ladyship because he intended to marry her daughter.

"Otherwise he would have returned to his estate in Wingham a long time ago. But he has taken Milgate for at least until September."

Milgate Hall was a dreary looking house that had once served as a summer residence for some unnamed aristocrat who had been forced, or so rumour had it, to sell it quite cheaply due to a rather embarrassing pecuniary situation. No one mentioned the situation itself, not in public at least, and even fewer ever made reference to the man himself. The house had since served many reputable tenants, the best of which was now the Viscount.

"Lady Catherine tells us that the house is terribly drafty and so Anne cannot be allowed to visit, which forces the Viscount to stay a great deal at Rosings. Had I been him, I would not have taken a house at all. I am sure Lady Catherine could have accommodated him, but then again, men must have their way," Charlotte resumed with a smile.

Mary thought that if _she_ had been the Viscount, she would have naturally taken a separate house, because she could not imagine living with Lady Catherine and being subject to her close scrutiny.

The Viscount was a rather thorny subject at the rectory. Mr Collins, despite extolling the man for his many "qualities", thought Anne's marriage to him would be a "sad and inevitable degradation", since a viscount would always rank lower than the daughter of an Earl.

"If only Miss de Bourgh had married Mr Darcy, as she should have," he would lament to himself, forgetting that Mary was present.

Mary did not mind his lamentations. She was more concerned with his compositions. She worked indefatigably each morning until noon, and then for three more hours in the afternoon (which she felt was quite heroic) in order to make sense of the clergyman's papers.

It was on such a morning, as she sat toiling in the parlour where the light was moderately better, that she was most sorely interrupted by none other than Miss de Bourgh and the Viscount.

Mary had quite forgotten that one of Anne de Bourgh's few pleasures in life was riding her pony cart around the parish. She had chosen today to make a stop at the rectory, joined by Mrs Jenkinson and the Viscount Cazlitt.

Naturally, the parlour had to be emptied of Mary's scholastic efforts. She felt _extremely_ aggravated, since she had spent hours dividing the day's papers into several categories, and now she would have to begin all over.

If she had been at Longbourn, she might have gone up to her room and not come down until supper, but sadly, she could not sulk in peace at the rectory. She had to sit in the parlour and make very dull conversation with Mrs Jenkinson, while Charlotte entertained Miss de Bourgh. Mr Collins, meanwhile, had already secured the Viscount and was taking him on a tour of his private garden, "for I do believe, Sir, this is your first time visiting my little domain."

And it appeared to be.

"Lord Cazlitt was happy to accompany me here. He wanted to see what my mother had done for the rectory. He thinks it is lovely, of course," Miss de Bourgh informed them in a thin voice, and this was the longest speech she managed for the entirety of her visit.

At one point there was _some_ commotion, as Mr Collins called for John to bring him the old pair of garden gloves he kept by the door, but as John was away on an errand in town, he called on Harriet, but as Harriet was also quite busy getting tea ready for the ladies gathered in the parlour, he called on Charlotte, but as _she_ could not be seen fetching things for her husband in front of Miss de Bourgh, it fell upon Mary to perform this task.

Mary was content to leave the parlour on such an excuse, although Mr Collins' garden was not, by any means, a better prospect. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as they say. It was times like these that she sorely missed Longbourn where she could slip away unnoticed and never be called upon. Of course, when she _was_ at home, she was always upset about not being noticed or called upon.

She found Mr Collins half-bent over a patch of his beloved carrots, trying to convince the Viscount to take a better look at them himself. Lord Cazlitt seemed affronted by the suggestion, and Mary could see why, as there was nothing to _look_ at but very uninteresting roots.

"Here are your gloves, Sir."

"Ah, Mary, how good of you to come! I was just telling the Viscount that I will save him my first batch of carrots. Now, tell me, can you already see their lovely orange heads? Why, I believe they are pushing up, ready to be harvested! What do you think, my lord?" and he indicated the roots with an enthusiasm that verged on the indelicate.

The Viscount made a short answer in the affirmative, which had the quality of being equally polite and equally dismissive, but Mary, who had gazed closely at the patch, said without much preamble,

"Why, no, you are mistaken, Mr Collins. I see nothing yet."

She had uttered the verdict in such a confident and easy manner that Mr Collins was rendered comically silent. He raised a hand up to his ear, as if to suggest he might have misheard her. But Mary did not catch his hint and thus made no changes to her previous statement.

The silence stretched unpleasantly between the three of them, with Mr Collins staring forlornly at his roots, the Viscount staring at her expectantly, and Mary looking at the gloves which were still clasped in her hands.

"Your gloves, Sir," she tried again, but Mr Collins sniffed and said she had better take them back.

Mary finally noticed that her cousin was put out and she realised all too late she should have lied about the carrots. She always had trouble with her niceties, even when she could remember them. But she had been working hard the entire morning and she ought to be excused for her omission. Besides, hadn't she praised his crops when she had first seen them? One time was perfectly sufficient.

"Pardon me, but I believe these gloves are the ones you requested from John and Harriet and Mrs Collins -" she enumerated, feeling rather cross.

Mr Collins fetched the gloves quickly and said that they should all go in for tea now.

Mary walked behind them with measured steps, thinking about the scattered papers which had been stuffed in one of the cabinets in the parlour. What if something had damaged them? What if someone had left a bottle of something thick inside and now it was pouring all over her corrections? She was already sulking about that bleak possibility. The Viscount made a sudden gesture to let her pass before him, but she stayed behind. She did not want to make the journey to Miss de Bourgh and Mrs Jenkinson any shorter. He looked at her very queerly, then shrugged and turned away. He was, after all, used to slow-moving young ladies.

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews! I hope this chapter was to your liking._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter V**

The addition of the Viscount and Mr Collins to the tea party made it no less dull and tedious. In fact, it had the effect of prolonging it beyond Mary's hard-earned patience. She could have sworn they had all been sitting in the parlour for at least three quarters of an hour and the conversation had not moved on from Miss de Bourgh's ponies. For, as they were duly informed – in short fragments by Anne, and in larger ones by Mrs Jenkinson – one of the ponies had been in danger of catching pneumonia and had only been saved by the diligent ministrations of a renowned horse doctor, who had been summoned all the way from Maidstone.

Mary, who was by no means a horse doctor, could hardly see how an animal might contract such a grave illness during such uncommonly fine weather. She was also certain that Mr Collins had, at least once or twice, praised the stables at Rosings for being the very best establishments for equine species of any kind. Therefore, she refrained from making small noises of sympathy, as Mr and Mrs Collins were wont to do at regular intervals. She found that _nodding_ to the story was far safer than contorting her face in an expression of compassion that she did not feel.

During an interlude in this most riveting saga, Mr Collins asked the Viscount whether such an unfortunate occurrence had ever happened upon his own horses, and the Viscount replied that he had been luckily exempt from these vicissitudes, but as he had hired a few horses from town, to complete his retinue at Milgate, he could never be certain.

"Oh, you'll find no better tended horses than at Hunsford!" Mr Collins cried with great conviction. "Why, if I had one of my own, I should care for it as one would for a young babe. Isn't that right, Charlotte? But ah! I do not mean to suggest we have need for such an extravagance. No, her ladyship is too generous to ever let us go the trouble!"

Mary now hoped that Mr Collins would take up a new thread about Lady Catherine, a subject infinitely preferable to ponies, but alas! Mrs Jenkinson, who had emptied her cup and taken a hearty bite out of a custard tart, was refreshed and ready to proceed. The woman was very fond of Mr and Mrs Collins, for whenever she was allowed to visit with her mistress, she was always encouraged to speak in Anne's place, in order to keep the Miss from exertion. Mrs Jenkinson quite relished the arrangement, since at Rosings, she was rendered silent and demure for inordinate amounts of time and no chaperone, even one who was old and widowed, enjoyed such a thing.

She was in the middle of giving them a detailed description of the complicated diet the pony had been subjected to for three weeks ("hot porridge into which three onions had to be sliced, no more, no less"), when Miss de Bourgh lifted her chin and pointed feebly at Mary.

"Oh, dear, that is a lot of ink."

Mrs Jenkinson did not seem at all bothered by the interruption; in fact, she seemed to relish it and gave her mistress precedence. "How right you are, Miss, for the poor thing was also given half a radish. How silly of me to forget."

Mary, who had gone a little pink at Miss de Bourgh's _quite_ uncalled for observation, made a great show of _not_ looking down at her hands. For that would be giving up the game. She was certain she had cleaned them with enough thoroughness in the short time given to her before the guests descended upon them.

The problem was that this incident had drawn the attention of the Viscount who was now eyeing her hands with dubious interest. Mary moved forward to lift her cup from the saucer, which only prompted the Viscount to stare even _more_ curiously at her hands. His eyes squinted and his brows ruffled in exceeding perplexity. Mary, who was known to cast quite a ferocious glare if she found reason to, looked at him in a way that discouraged further intrusive glances.

And yet, the Viscount did not seem to be able to help himself! He would say some trifle or other to Miss de Bourgh or Mrs Collins and his attention might be held there for a moment or two, but his eyes would inevitably find a passage to her hands again.

It was extremely vexing, and Mary finally could bear it no longer, and said, when Mrs Jenkinson was drinking her second cup,

"Do you know Miss de Bourgh that Mr Collins is writing a book?"

Miss de Bourgh blinked for several moments, looked upon her chaperone, whose mouth was currently full, and heaving a delicate sigh, said, "I believe I have heard Mama speak of it."

"Ah, how much like you, Miss de Bourgh, to take interest in my modest endeavours," Mr Collins replied with a somewhat bashful cough. He gazed at his cousin with a small hint of irritation, for though he enjoyed having occasion to talk about himself, he would rather be the one to introduce the subject.

"I have been helping Mr Collins with his excellent papers, in fact," Mary added for the benefit of the company. She believed the epithet, "excellent", would please her cousin very much, but she could not have been further from the truth. When one means to give oneself credit, one must do so in a very roundabout way, giving first credit to all the other participants involved, and making one's own contribution seem light and unimportant. Otherwise, one will look ungrateful and what is more, desperate for recognition. Mary might have said, "I'm more than honoured to be able to assist Mr Collins in whatever he may need", or even "Mr Collins was kind enough to let me be of assistance", but certainly, nothing as unvarnished and plainly self-congratulatory as "I have been helping Mr Collins with his excellent papers, in fact". The very use of the present perfect suggested that the papers had reached their current excellence due to _her_ involvement. And the rather pert addition of "in fact" at the end of the sentence only strengthened the impression. Ah! If only Mary had been a little older to understand such subtleties. Though, one fears that, no matter how old Mary Bennet might grow, she will never be proficient in these matters.

Luckily, Charlotte corroborated Mary's assertion in such a way as to give much needed authority back to her husband.

"Yes, Mary has been an invaluable help around the house and she has shown great interest in Mr Collins' scholastic duties."

This was altogether a safer notion to advertise, and put everyone at ease, except for Mary, who found the description most inaccurate. Help around the house! What nonsense! But at the very least, she had managed to tell everyone that she was doing something useful. Miss de Bourgh or Mrs Jenkinson (odds were stacked more towards the latter) would surely inform Lady Catherine of her employment.

But there was the Viscount, staring at her hands again! Mary thought the previous conversation had enlightened him as to the various degrees of ink to be found on her person, yet he still seemed to have some queries!

He was unnaturally nosy for a Viscount, and Mary had to keep her hands well-hidden in her lap until, at painful length, the visit was over.

When, after many apropos and adieus, the pony cart rounded the corner and disappeared from sight with its three occupants, Mary finally had the liberty to show her hands and see what the Viscount had found so compelling about them.

And oh! What a discovery she made! On the side of her left palm was a faint inscription which hadn't been entirely removed by her handkerchief. For Mary had the habit of resting her hand on the blotting sheet when she was writing some corrections for Mr Collins' benefit and a word had been imprinted on her palm, which she now contemplated in horror.

The word was "lechery".

She remembered now that she had been improving a particularly prosaic passage. She had been meaning to replace "lechery" with "concupiscence", since the latter was less offensive to the ears, and in any case, no one _really_ wanted to hear about matters of debauchery in a sermon (here she was too young, again, to be right), and she had written down the word to remember to change it – and well, now she would remember it forever!

This was undoubtedly what the Viscount had been staring at for the good portion of an hour. And she, too proud to look down and take notice! Mary felt that, should a terrible bolt of lightning fall just then on her forehead and render her dead, she might not feel very sorry. Of course, she was not contemplating the gravest sin known to man; she would never do herself in. But if the heavens should split open and take her, she felt it would be a mercy.

What might the Viscount think of her now! What might he tell Lady Catherine! It was all too horrible to contemplate.

And now Mary thought that, if Miss de Bourgh's pony _had_ contracted pneumonia, she might not have visited them so inopportunely, and the Viscount might have seen nothing wrong with her hands. Oh, how wicked to wish ill upon a poor animal, but if only the horse doctor had stayed in Maidstone!

Charlotte was quite alarmed to see Mary so white in the face.

"What's the matter, dear? Oh, is it the papers you are wanting?" and she went to unlock the cabinet where they had been hidden for the occasion.

"No, no! No papers today!" Mary cried unhappily.

* * *

 _A/N: A slightly shorter chapter, but I feel that it had to stand on its own. I hope you enjoyed it and thank you for your lovely reviews! Thanks also to the anonymous reviewers, especially_ ** _Dbddhsbzbd_**.


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